


St Elmo's Fire

by fififolle



Category: The Jew of Malta - Marlowe
Genre: Bargaining, Boys in Chains, Deception, Faustian Bargain, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Imprisonment, Loss, Sieges, Templars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fififolle/pseuds/fififolle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Steven Pacey's excellent portrayal of Ferneze in The Jew of Malta at the RSC *g* You don't need to know anything about the Siege of Malta of 1565 :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	St Elmo's Fire

~

The once honey-coloured walls of the prison were tainted with grime and the vestiges of pain, and it made Ferneze's heart sink to contemplate even a day in this hole. The Turkish soldier checked that the chain attached to the wall was secure, then proceeded to fasten the shackles around Ferneze's wrists.

“You cannot do this to me!” Ferneze growled, as Barabas watched the Turkish soldier imprison the governor – ex-governor.

“By which policy dost thou make this claim?” mocked Barabas. “For my policy says that I can.” He drew near to Ferneze, peering at the furious man with great interest. “Oh yes, I can do that which pleases me now, as you once could. And it pleases me to treat you like this, which is better than you ever did me.”

Ferneze glanced at the Turkish soldier and felt the stab of revenge more deeply than any heavy weight of chains. Now the fate of Malta was dissolving before his eyes, but perhaps...

“Barabas, listen to me. Let us talk in private. You are a man who appreciates worth, and this great city...”

“Enough!” Barabas spat. “This great city -”

“It is a city of righteousness,” Ferneze hissed. “Do not let it fall to base besiegers.”

Barabas paused in his rant and turned to the Turkish guard. “Leave us. Tell Calymath that I am now governor, and will meet with him within the hour.”

A shiver ran down Ferneze's spine. Barabas was going to give Malta to the Turks, and all would be lost. Not only this blessed isle, but all of Christendom.

As the Turkish soldier left, Barabas locked the iron gate to keep the two of them inside. He waved his hand airily.

“Speak, then, Christian, and tell me why the son of the Sultan should not be my master. For he has made all reasonable approaches to this city,” he slammed his hand against the wall beside Ferneze's head, “which you have _pissed_ on, as you did me all these years.”

“The man is a barbarian!” Ferneze was indignant. “When Rhodes fell, the pillage was unbearable. I implore you, Barabas, as we share a God, do not let humanity die in this place.”

Barabas just laughed. “Your God and my God do not appear to sit at the same table. When you were a galley slave, did your God tell you to come to Malta and persecute me? Tell me the truth. You were fain to do so, so he must have.”

They stared at each other, Ferneze breathing heavily, his frustration boiling under his thin, grubby shirt. Ferneze had not the words to excuse his past actions, nor the strength in this heat to demonstrate his disgust with Barabas.

Barabas suddenly looked weary. “Get down on your knees, Ferneze. I want you to learn something.”

Ferneze considered refusing, but he'd seen Barabas at his most cruel, and even the Grand Master would have been impressed. With a sigh, he lowered himself to the dirt floor and bowed his head. He would bide his time.

“Ah, humility,” Barabas said softly. “What a sore lesson for someone so lofty.” He walked around Ferneze and seemed to stare at the wall for some time, then he moved back, and crouched down to speak at Ferneze. His voice was but kind.

“Once we lived side by side, and our children caught fish down on the rocks together, and chased the chameleons in the olive groves. Do you remember, Ferneze?”

Ferneze nodded miserably. “Your daughter was fair, I remember her well.”

Barabas' eyes grew cold, and the spit flew from his mouth as he hissed, “But I was an infidel in your eyes, and you ground me down until I was nothing. Doth not now that slur stick hard in your throat, faced with Calymath and his kind?”

Ferneze felt his head thick with confusion and grief, remembering the youngsters of the island, all dead and gone. “You killed my son,” he said, his voice breaking with a sob. “What had poor Lodowick done to you?”

“Your son to me? Nothing!” admitted Barabas. “But how else would I bring you to your knees that I may take what is yours?”

A dark fury lodged in Ferneze's mind and he lunged at Barabas, catching him in the stomach with his head, but pulled back by the chain as he tried to disable the treacherous Jew, leaving him to fall hard to the ground.

Barabas, lying by him, merely laughed through his lack of air, clutching his side and crawling back to sit on the floor. “Don't be so, Ferneze. 'Tis too late! This righteous city I will give to the Turks, and all my gold will be returned to me, for they speak with honour, where you always spoke with a forked tongue from your crack'd eyrie.” He spat on the ground, then got to his feet, looking down on the broken governor.

“It is over, Christian.” Barabas unlocked the gate.

“Barabas, wait!” Ferneze had one last dagger in his armoury. “If you help me rid this city of the Turks, I will give you all the gold, and more besides. Gold means nothing to me now, you can have my fortune to add to thine. And – I shall pardon you of all misdeeds and return your house to you, and give you all the land north of La Aranela. And slaves! As many as you wish, if you would but treat them fairly.”

Barabas' hand paused on the iron gate. Slowly he looked around, wiping his lip of the blood there. “You would do this for me?”

Ferneze's heart chilled to a black stone as he revelled in the sight of Barabas injured. What sweet revenge he would himself reap. “Oh, yes, Barabas. I would do this to you.”

The light of gold glinted in Barabas eyes, and it was as if he no longer saw the chains or filthy walls. His smile grew. “All right then. How say you we double-cross Calymath?” The grin was wicked and ached for riches.

Ferneze smiled back. “He that doth dig a pit of oil for mine own death shall see it well used... but not for me.”

Barabas laughed, nodding. “Let it be so.”

Oh yes, Ferneze thought, so it shall be.

~


End file.
